


Mairi's Ghost

by la_topolina



Series: The Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object Continuity [14]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Afterlife, Bullying, Fluff, Forgiveness, Friendship, Gen, School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23583757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_topolina/pseuds/la_topolina
Summary: Muggle ghost Mairi Alpin has spent her death atoning for her sins. Neville Longbottom is struggling to endure his potions classes. Together, they may be able to help each other.Special thanks to Oregonian for allowing me to spin-off her wonderful storyForgive Us Our Trespasses. Mairi is her creation, and I loved getting to continue her story with Neville here.
Relationships: Neville Longbottom & Original Female Character(s), Neville Longbottom & Severus Snape
Series: The Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object Continuity [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745833
Kudos: 1





	Mairi's Ghost

“Well done, Neville!” I say, my voice still surprising to my ghostly ears. It’s been a very long time since I have been able to talk to any of the students here at this magic school, but every few generations a special one wanders my way and he or she is able to see me. When that happens, I am able to talk to that student and I am able to touch things again, if that student is around. The students here are used to ghosts, and the ones who find me always seem to need the quiet solitude of my lonely chapel. They also usually need help of some kind, and I do my best to give it. Sometimes they need a friendly ear or help standing up for themselves. Sometimes they need help focusing on their schoolwork. I was never able to do magic myself—indeed when I was alive, I was unaware that there were such things as real witches and wizards who did magic for the forces of good. But I have had a long death, and I have spent some of it observing the classes, teachers, and students here. And usually the students who find me are in more need of a friend than an actual tutor.

“Thank you Mairi,” Neville replies shyly. “It’s easy to do when you’re around. You don’t think I’m an idiot.” The little smile that had crept onto the boy’s face disappears and he sighs glumly as he stirs the gaily piping cauldron. “I’ll never be able to do that in potions class. Not with Professor Sn…Sn…Snape there.”  
  
I ruffle his hair fondly and the cold from my touch causes him to shiver. But he smiles again at me. The poor boy must be awfully starved for affection if he is smiling at a ghostly touch.   
  
“You can do it and you will do it,” I say. “I will be there with you, after all.”  
  
“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” he protests, looking worried.  
  
“I won’t. Nobody can see me but you and Peeves.”  
  
“I think it’s so weird that you and Peeves are friends.”  
  
I laugh. “He’s really very easy to manage if you’re nice to him. He likes me to read him stories. And he was a big help setting up this impromptu classroom.”  
  
“I guess. It has been nice to practice here and I do feel a little better about it when I get to class,” Neville admitted.   
  
“You know how to brew potions,” I insist. “You just get nervous when that professor of yours is watching you. I think that you need to practice saying his name while you’re here in the chapel.”  
  
“Wh…why?” he stammers.  
  
“Because if you can say it without hesitation, you’ll be less afraid of him.”  
  
“I’m always worried he’ll appear if I say his name out loud,” Neville mutters.  
  
“He’s not the devil!” I cross myself automatically, just in case. “Try it. Ten times a day until you can say it without stuttering.”  
  
Neville looks dubious, but he gives it a try. “Professor Sn…Snape. Professor Sn…sn….Snape….”

  
*****

  
Potions class the next day is a nightmare for the boy. I have been helping Neville for six months now and some days do go better than others. I have a system in place. That is the best way to learn, I think, and Professor Snape is nothing if not systematic. On Sunday evenings, I flit into the professor’s office while he is at dinner and go through his papers until I can find the week’s lesson plans for the fourth year students. They are always a third of the way through the stack and they are always complete. It did take me some time to learn to decipher the man’s spidery scrawl, but, once I had, it was only a matter of copying the instructions from his scroll and gathering supplies. The first few times I helped Neville practice, I used the instructions from the Book of Potions, but they never turned out quite right in class. Eventually, I realized that the professor never used the book in class. He simply flicked his little wand and put the instructions on the board. Once I realized that, I noticed that the instructions on the board were always slightly different from the book. Sometimes they were completely different. So, I started copying his instructions from his lesson plans, and Neville practices with those.  
  
Without Peeves, I know that I wouldn’t be able to gather all the ingredients and equipment. He can actually be very careful when he wants to be and he never breaks anything when he’s on an errand for me. He does demand an extra story after he helps me set up the practice sessions, but I don’t mind. He can be a dear and I feel that the positive attention is good for him. Even though I can move things now, it takes a lot of concentration, and it makes me tired. But I feel lighter somehow. As though things are drawing to a close for me. Sometimes I feel as though I can almost see my dear husband or my babies. As though the veil is thinning and soon—someday soon—I might be able finally to pass through it.  
  
But Neville needs my help at present. Professor Snape stalks over to him and hovers at the boy’s shoulder. I try to keep my temper. I’ve learned a long, hard lesson about compassion and judgement. It is not my place to judge, that privilege belongs to the Heavenly Father alone. I know that He will not suffer Himself to be mocked. All wicked men who are allowed to live are allowed to do so for two reasons only. Either they live that they may repent; or they live that the good men may be tested and refined. But sometimes it is hard to be patient with the wicked, even knowing all of that.  
  
I can see Neville’s hands shaking and start to reach for the wrong ingredient.  
  
“No, not that one!” I whisper, even though no one else can hear me. Neville’s eyes are firmly on his work, but he manages to stop himself from ruining his potion. “Take a deep breath dear. Just put the pomegranate juice in and I’ll get rid of the professor. I’ll be right back, I promise.”  
  
I zoom away through the wall to find Peeves. He is in the library, tearing pages out of books while Madame Pince screeches at him.  
  
“Peeves, I need your help,” I interrupt.  
  
“Only if I get threeee stories tonight!” he cries.  
  
“I’ll read you six if you come right now.”  
  
“Wheee!”   
  
In a few moments Peeves is merrily pulling glass beakers off of the shelves in the professor’s office and I am back in the classroom. It only takes one bottle shattering before the professor is running to save his stock.  
  
“Peeves!” he shouts. You ectoplasmic menace! When I get my hands on you, there won’t be enough left of you to send to Hell!”  
  
With the professor out of the way, I float to Neville’s side and put a hand on his shoulder. He shivers, but his hands stop shaking.   
  
“Just like you practiced, Neville,” I reassure him. “Just like you practiced.”

***** 

“I’m doomed,” Neville moans a week later. He is in the middle of brewing a complicated antidote, but he is doing it exactly as he should. Perhaps it is not quite perfect, but it is certainly correct enough.   
  
“Why would you say that?” I ask. “You’re doing splendidly.”  
  
“Professor Snape says I have to come in by myself to brew. He’s convinced that Hermione is helping me still, even though she hasn’t said a word to me during class for months. It’s bad enough when I’m in a classroom with everybody else with him. I can’t do it alone!”  
  
“You won’t be alone. I’ll be there.”  
  
Neville starts blinking hard and sniffling. “But he’s right you know. Professor Snape is right. I am a cheater.” He angrily wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.  
  
I float over to him and put my hand under his chin, tilting his face up. “Neville Longbottom, you listen to me. I have helped you review this work and given you space to practice. But you have done the work yourself.”  
  
“But in class…”  
  
“In class I have helped you stay calm and I have distracted the professor when he is becoming difficult. But you have done all the work yourself. You are not a cheater.”

“Really?”  
  
“Really. And, more important, you can say the professor’s name without being afraid anymore. You can face him in this test. I believe in you and I will be with you.”  
  
He beams at me. “Thank you Mairi.” He stirs the cauldron for awhile, thinking to himself, and then asks, “Is there anything I can do for you? You’ve helped me so much. Is there anything you want?”  
  
Anything I want? I want to move on. I want to go to my true home in Heaven. I want to be with my family and my God. A stirring of a memory begins in my mind, and I feel warm all over for a moment. But I have to think for a while. It’s just a ghost of a whisper at present.   
  
“I’ll think about it Neville. I may have an idea, but I need to think about it for a while.”  
  
“Just let me know. I mean it.”  
  
“I will.”

***** 

“Ah. Longbottom. You are fortunate that you are not late today,” Snape says in his voice like venomous silk. “You will need all the time allotted to you. You had best begin now. Should you make any mistakes, simply vanish your potion and leave. You will not have time to begin again.”   
  
He flicks his wand and a long list of instructions appear on the board for the Wit-Sharpening Potion. Neville’s eyes widen and he looks at me in a panic. This is not the potion we had practiced. I must have looked at the wrong paper on Snape’s desk. Or maybe he changed his mind at the last minute and decided to give Neville a different test. We have brewed this one, once, a few months ago, and Neville did it well. But I can see the fear in the boy’s eyes, and I know that his doubts about himself are going to hurt him.   
  
“I suggest you stop staring and start working,” Snape says. “What a pity that you cannot benefit from the potion before you brew it.”  
  
He sounds as though he is relishing the boy’s fear and, maybe he is. There are many ropes around this man’s soul and he is enveloped in a gray mist. It is not my job to punish him now, but I need to stop him from frightening Neville. Since the professor is sitting at his desk, I simply float between him and Neville, willing myself to become as solid as possible.  
  
“You can do it, Neville,” I whisper. “One step at a time.”  
  
Neville swallows hard and slowly starts to sort out his ingredients. As he carefully begins to prepare the newt spleen, his hands stop shaking. The professor is working silently at his desk and, with me smiling encouragingly in front of him, Neville is able to concentrate on what he is doing. Soon I see the boy chewing on his lower lip while he works, a sure sign that he is fully engaged. Good. He will be able to finish this, if only he can keep his mind focused.  
  
I start telling my phantom beads as Neville works, muttering silent Paters and Aves. It is a little dull watching these two silent figures. One might have trouble telling the ghosts from the living here. The professor is so pale and hardly seems to breathe. Neville is pale from fear and holds his breath often as he concentrates. I am pale from death. There should be some ballad about the ghosts in the dungeon at Hogwarts.   
  
As I pray, my mind wanders along the thread of the idea from the other day. Something that we used to do when we were alive. Something that is difficult, but rewarding. As realization dawns on me, I glance at the boy and wonder if he would do it. I know in the core of my ghostly self that it is the very thing that would release me from this place. But it may be too much to ask of Neville.  
  
Suddenly I realize that the professor has risen from his desk and is stalking ominously towards Neville. I shake my thoughts off and turn my attention to the task at hand. First things first. Although Neville does not look up at his professor, his hands start to tremble and a thin sheen of sweat breaks out on his brow. Being observed in this way never fails to shake Neville’s confidence and this time is no exception.  
  
I purse my transparent lips at the sight. Neville is doing well and the slightest hesitation will stop him from finishing his assignment. I have had enough of this and decide that it is time for me to intervene more directly. I fly at the professor and pass through him. He pauses a moment, as though a chill were passing down his spine. I do it again, although I’ve never quite gotten used to the ability to pass through things—especially people. He swats the air with his hands and his sharp, black eyes scan the room for intruders.   
  
“Toddle off, spirit,” he growls. “You’ve no business here.”   
  
If he had been looking anywhere else in the room I would have thought he could actually see me, but he is looking in the exact opposite direction. Neville, bless him, keeps his eyes on his work. Even though the professor can’t see me, I think he might be able to feel me. I reach out and brush my hand against his cheek as an experiment. He shudders and draws back, no doubt frozen by my ghostly hand. Emboldened, I tug on his cape. He jerks it out of my hands, whirling about, trying to find the source of his trouble.  
  
“I said out!” he hisses, swatting at the air again.  
  
I start to giggle as a mad idea seizes me and, in the next pass, I start to tickle the moody professor’s stomach. He can’t hear me laughing, but I glance at Neville and see that the boy is biting his lips and his shoulders are shaking, even though his eyes are still on his work. I continue my attack and the professor stumbles backwards, trying to escape me. When he is near the classroom door, as if on cue, we hear Peeves start smashing bottles in the professor’s office, singing loudly:  
  
“ _Severus, Severus, Severus Snape,_  
_Looks like he’s dressed in electrical tape!_  
_His nose is an uncircumscribable shape!_  
_Severus, Severus, Severus Snape!_ ”  
  
“Peeves!” the professor shouts, and he sweeps out of the room to deal with the naughty poltergeist.   
  
“Oh, Peeves, well done!” I laugh.  
  
Neville’s eyes are shining as he at last glances up from his potion and lets out the laughter that he’s been holding in.  
  
“That was brilliant, Mairi!” he says.  
  
“Thank you, but finish your work now. If you hurry, you’ll be done by the time the professor comes back,” I say.  
  
“Next time I’m afraid, I’m just going to remember the look on Professor Snape’s face when you were tickling him.”   


  
***** 

  
“I passed!” Neville cries, waving a sheet of parchment as he rushes into my chapel.   
  
“That’s wonderful!” I reply, flying around him in an approximation of a hug.  
  
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”  
  
“Nonsense. I just helped you do what you already knew how to do.”  
  
“I want to do something for you.” His young face suddenly looks very serious. “Did you think of anything? I know you miss your family.”  
  
“As a matter of fact, I have thought of something. But it may sound strange to you.”  
  
“I don’t mind. Anything!”  
  
“Be careful promising ‘anything’ to people, my dear boy. Do you know what a pilgrimage is?”  
  
“No….”  
  
“People used to take them in my day and maybe they still do, I’m not sure. You travel to a holy place and pray. People used to do them in thanksgiving for graces or as penance for sins. I feel sure that I am trapped here in a sort of Purgatory where I can help others, but I need someone to help me. I believe that if you take a journey on my behalf and pray for me, I will be released and be able to move on.”  
  
“Where do I need to go?”  
  
“To Our Lady of Walsingham. You would have to leave your shoes in the slipper chapel and go part of the way barefoot.”  
  
Neville considers my strange request for a long time. So long that I say, “I understand if it is too much. You are a child, after all, and you would need your grandmother’s permission and help to get there.”  
  
“No. I’ll do it. Gran’ll think it’s an adventure and I almost never ask to go anywhere. She’ll help me. I can do it this summer.”  
  
I feel lighter than I ever have since the night I died. I know that he won’t fail me. He might seem like an unimpressive boy, but I know he has the stuff of heroes in him. He gives me the best hug he can.  
  
“Thank you, Neville. I hope that when you come back in the fall I won’t see you here, but I’ll pray for you always and I’ll watch you from the next place.”  
  
“I know you will. I’ll miss you Mairi, but I hope that you’ll see your family soon. Thank you for everything!”  
  
He gives me one last smile and wave before he ducks out of the chapel. I pray a few rounds of my beads, but then I decide I should make the most of the time I have left here. I go off to find Peeves. I’m sure he would like to hear a story tonight. 

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you to Vicki for letting me borrow her character, Mairi Alpin.
> 
> Second, I must give credit to my husband for coming up with Peeves's song. He is the poet in the family, and I shamelessly took advantage of his skill for this story.  
> The term “uncircumscribable” means “not able to be circumscribed” or “not able to draw a circle around.” It was used during the debates in the Eastern Church about whether or not God could be depicted in icons. The iconoclasts argued that God was “uncircumscribable,” or that one could not depict Him in icons, and the iconodules, argued that He was "circumscribable" and could be depicted, most often as the Ancient of Days. Was that too much information? Anyway, Peeves is just using that fancy word here to make fun of Severus’s nose.
> 
> Third, thank you to Contrarian for suggesting that Mairi tickle Snape on the belly. 
> 
> And, finally, thank you for reading!


End file.
